Page 6 of Book Boyfriend
“I said no.” I laugh.
“Have dinner with me.” His voice is deeper this time. It’s sexy even through the phone. I pause.
“Please?”
“Fine. Gosh. Then you can see I’m not hurt and you can move on to the next girl on the beach.”
“I’m going to ignore all the other stuff and focus on the fine. How about the steakhouse in your hotel in an hour?”
“No. Too fancy.” I pause and glance out my window. “How about the taco truck by the beach in thirty minutes?”
“Really?” He almost sounds excited.
“I like tacos.”
“I’ll see you in thirty minutes and you can have all the tacos you want.”
“Okay, well, bring money, because I’m not one of those girls who get salad. I’m hungry.”
He laughs. “I like hungry girls. I’ll bring my wad. I mean . . .”
“Classy,” I reply. “See you then.” I hang up without giving him a chance to explain. I know what he meant, but I have to admit, there’s a part of me that hopes he has a wad . . . in his pants, and I’ll get to see it.
I always wanted to have a one-night stand. Maybe it’s time I become one of the girls I only write about. Oh, who am I kidding? Sleeping with one guy in college and marrying him years later does not a sexual dynamo make. I do write sexy stories, though. No one would ever know I’d only been with one guy. Good thing I kept my maiden name and Oliver isn’t allowed to disclose our marriage or anything else about me. At least I got my privacy in the divorce.
I guess I’m lucky I have such a vivid imagination. It keeps me busy on lonely nights. It’s a bonus that authors are allowed to watch porn for “research” purposes. Maybe I should think of this dinner as research. I should getsomethingout of this trip.
I dry my hair and find I don’t need much makeup. I apply a little powder to my red face in an attempt to look like I’m not a fire breathing dragon and a little gloss to my lips. Why should I care what I look like? It’s just tacos with a stranger. What could possibly go wrong?
I’m ten minutes early. It’s another issue of mine to add to my growing list. I hate being late, so I’m always too punctual. I’m the girl who shows up first at a party. Fashionably late? Not me. I can’t do it. Luna usually tells me a party starts later than it really does so I’m not the first one there. She thinks I should make a grand entrance. I don’t do anything grand. I usually show up, have a drink, smile for pictures, and then I’m ready to go home and take off my bra. Why do women have to wear them anyway? It’s not fair.
Tugging at the strap on my shoulder, I attempt to reposition it so it’s not on a burn line. Having to wear a bra when you have a sunburn is torturous. I walk toward the truck and skim the menu. If I weren’t craving tacos, I would’ve probably just stayed in my room. A small part of me wants to grab three or four, ooh and some chips and guacamole, go back to my room, turn on the TV, stuff my face, and go to sleep.
I bite my bottom lip and step into the line. Maybe he’ll be late or better yet, maybe he won’t show. My eyes shuffle left and right as I decide that binge eating alone sounds way better than making small talk.
“What can I get you, darlin’?” The taco truck man smiles as he wipes his hands on a rag.
“Which would you recommend, the steak or chicken?”
“They’re both good.”
“I’d recommend two of each,” a voice smolders over my shoulder.
I turn to see Fisher standing behind me smiling. His hair is coiffed in perfection and he looks like he stepped out of a page in a magazine. I’m caught off guard by both his presence and his voice.
I do a double take and attempt to refocus on the menu.
“Two of each?” the food truck cashier asks.
“Umm, two steak, one chicken,” I reply.
“Make that four steak and three chicken,” Fisher replies. He leans in, placing his lips near my ear as he steps closer behind me. “What would you like to drink?” he whispers seductively.
Okay, it probably wasn’t a seductive question, but his warm breath on my ear, his proximity, and the smell of his skin force an eruption of goose bumps on my arms. He could have asked me if I had toe jam and it would have sounded hot.
I eye the board for drink options.
“We have killer margaritas,” truck guy says as he points toward a picture by the open window.
